Spirit of Jahanna
by Aravan Fox
Summary: Set shortly after the fall of Jahanna and the death of Gerald Tarrant. Coldfire trilogy of CS Friedman.
1. Default Chapter

***AN-My story begins after the death of Tarrant and before the Patriarch's sacrifice. Thus, fae still can be used for self-sacrifice but human fear still influences it. It is the beginning of a long tale which will tell of Tarrant's youth and his adventures after the series ends. Enjoy! And as always, please review.***  
  
The spirit skimmed over the trees, desperately searching for that thing that it's Need had demanded. Below it, the fae faintly shone through the canopy of sickly tree. The place that had been the spirit's home was now dying, as surely doomed as it's own abandoned body. The edge of the forest came on the horizon and the spirit hesitated. It looked again to the fae lines under it, uncertain of the answer it's Working had received. "Close," the spell promised. The spirit wavered, becoming more anxious. Close was a relative thing.  
  
The spirit checked the fae once more, greatly disturbed by the changes the last three days had wrecked upon it. Only recently had mankind had the blood-force of Erna ripped from its collective greedy hands and the panic that the sudden lose of power caused made the fae all the more chaotic.  
  
The normally chaotic whirlpool below the spirit had became a fickle maelstrom, full of eddies and sub-lines that had once been tapped and drained upstream and now flooded to the end of its flow. As if every dam in a watershed had been shattered, the overflow, in short, made the ordinary fae paths almost completely unreadable.  
  
The spirit took all this information in and with a bodiless shiver, plunged towards the horizon.  
  
As the last of the trees fell away before it, the pull of the Need spell surged. The spirit could have cried out in elation as it coursed faster towards its goal. Soon, soon!  
  
A small copse of nu-cherry appeared ahead. A crystalline brook flowed through it and a saddled unhorse and a foal contently lay nearby. The mare raised her head and twitched her ear in acknowledgement that something was there.  
  
The spirit barely noticed the unhorses, demanding, "Where, where?" The Working replied, "here," and dissipated. The spirit started in fear. If what it was seeking for was not here, it had nothing left to sacrifice. With much trepidation, the spirit looked about. The copse was only a few dozen yards square and the land was uneven in typical Ernan fashion, so it had to literally look high and low, madly hunting that which would give it true life and freedom. It saw nothing.  
  
So the spirit looked up in trees and under boulders. It even looked under the water, just to be sure. The mare looked on as if she could actually see it, apparently amused. The spirit was far from happy, unable to find anything.  
  
The spirit whimpered soundlessly, searching the whole of the area once again, like a person who is very late and is trying to find their keys. Twice again, it looked. Thrice. Nothing!  
  
Finally, the spirit gave a great incorporate howl of frustration and despair. If only it could weep, it would have for the first time in time forgotten. The mare had both ears perked and whickered, calling attention to her self.  
  
The spirit turned to her, she and her sleeping colt being the only living things it could see bigger than a chitterpunk. The unhorse was a black and brown paint. Her broad forehead alluded to the intelligence that clearly reflected in her eyes. The spirit paused, staring at her at length. It had asked for a suitable unoccupied body with a brain capable of holding it's vast knowledge. "Surely not," it thought.  
  
The mare snorted as if replying in the negative. She lowered her head to nudge the long mane and long legged ball next to her. The spirit, defeated in it's own search, approached. And then laughed mockingly at itself.  
  
The foal was no foal at all, but a young man curled up on himself. Waist length black hair tangled across brown skin and black leathers, deceiving the spirit with the illusion of a colt patterned after it's mother.  
  
The mare, indeed, had been protecting the youth like her own. The spirit suspected the man had fell suddenly ill, since he was in a ball and the unhorse was still saddled. The man must have been there at least two days, the spirit estimated, noting how the plants partially under the boy had already turned themselves to face the sun.  
  
The young man's face was utterly blank. While the eyes were closed, the lashes didn't involuntarily quiver when the mare sniffed his face. The spirit came up next to the man, accessing the situation. A coma, perhaps, but if the cause was something incurable, then the body was no better for it than for the boy.  
  
Delicately, the spirit entered the body. Systematically, it checked out all the functions: dermal, muscular, and skeletal. Auxiliaries worked despite the abuse for exposure. Cardiopulmonary, digestive, renal, all right; reproductive, hormonal, and sensory, those were good things to have working properly. And the nervous system. The spirit steeled itself. The two most important criteria for the spirit were that the body had a healthy brain and that it was unoccupied. Morality wouldn't allow for the pushing out of another soul.  
  
The spirit slid smoothly into the brain, checking each area for injury. Frontal lobe, temporal, occipital, parietal lobe, cerebellum. nothing damaged and no intelligence seemed to be present! Electric thrills went down the spirit's imaginary spine. So soon it would have one! As for where the soul went, God only knew, and don't question a gift from God!  
  
Like a hand into a glove, it moved into the body, possessing it truly. Slowly, perception of self returned. Limbs, hands, feet! Working lungs, aching joints, all wonderful feelings. The spirit tested it's (his!) muscles, flexing bi's, tri's and quad's, beautiful series of collaborating flesh!  
  
Could he see the fae, he wondered. Was that inborn talent connected to the flesh or the soul? He could see the fae while seeking this body, but would that change once he looked out of someone else's eyes? He needed to know, and there was only one way to find out.  
  
He opened his eyes. Bright light assaulted the delicate retinas that hadn't been exposed in days. A soft, slim hand suddenly covered eyes. It took him a long moment to realize that it was his own. He rolled onto his belly, oddly unable to feel the ground. It will pass, he thought. He uncovered his eyes, certain that the grass would be easier to look at. A color filled his vision. He blinked several times. The color remained and no definite lines appeared. Confused, he raised his head and peered out to where he knew trees in spring bloom were. More color came into sight and some shapes, but he couldn't tell what they were!  
  
"Blind! I'm blind!" he gasped. Although he said the words aloud, the sounds were foreign to his ears. Something was wrong.  
  
His new heart raced. He had already settled into the body and was unable to leave it. The vestiges of the Working that allowed him to analyze a potential body would soon flee and in this altered Erna, he wouldn't be able to do anything.  
  
He forced calm upon himself. Nothing can win in the face of discipline and determination. Taking a shaky breath, he pulled on his knowledge of biology and physiology. Eyes, ears, and sensation of the ground are not processing and the organs are functional. must be chemical or cerebral then. What influences the interpretation of sensory information? The thalamus.  
  
He slipped inwards again, concentrating on the forebrain and it's parts. The thalamus, a tiny part that obviously made a world of difference. The spirit studied it carefully, looking for disease or clots that he may have missed the first time. Nothing unusual except. except. a fae thread? While fae flowed around and through everything, this was odd in that it was thin and tense, like a rubber band about to snap.  
  
Cautiously, the spirit touched the strand, questioning where it led. His answer came in the form of emotion.  
  
"!"  
  
"!" The spirit replied, astonished. The emotion was without doubt human. 


	2. Part 2

***AN- I wish I had a beta *sigh* Part two.***  
  
To say that the spirit was stunned would be putting it lightly. The soul of this body was present after all, if not exactly attached to the body. Somehow it had been pulled out, apparently by fae. What else would explain the fae thread? The thought of having to share a body was disconcerting to the spirit. He was stuck in this body now, but he couldn't expect the soul to give it up.  
  
The spirit considered the matter for a long moment, cursing the influence of his conscious. The only way to truly make this work was either to cut the fae thread, making the soul into a ghost (an unacceptable option) or accept the idea of sharing. He pondered that concept, his vast knowledge and the flexibility of a young mind. It could work.  
  
Sighing in resignation, the spirit reached out to the soul again, trying to draw it closer and make the thread less tense. The soul resisted with a scared, weak protest, making the spirit think of a minnow on a fishing line. Wordlessly, the spirit tried to express calm and reassurance. The soul still resisted but then asked a frightened, "?" In words, it would have had asked, "Who are you?"  
  
The spirit hesitated, trying to think of a response that wouldn't spook it worse. Recently, the spirit had been someone who no one trusted. But, once long ago, he had the trust of the world. The spirit answered with an image of a young noble, a beautiful red-haired wife and three darling imps of children sitting for a family portrait.  
  
The soul was silent for a long moment then replied with a family portrait as well; himself and an ebony skinned woman heavy with child, another man that resembled him and an older couple who must have been his parents. The picture wavered then was replaced with a mansion burning fiercely. The soul cried out in anguish and retreated again.  
  
The spirit could say nothing and didn't attempt to touch the thread again. It was obvious what had happened to the man's family and what do you say to that?  
  
The fae thread throbbed with the soul's pain and the spirit laid trembling on the ground. The soul's misery was as his own and it had been a very long since he had known strong emotions other than hate or fear. However, it knew what it meant to lose all that you loved. Given the pain in his throat and chest, he guessed that he was crying in sympathy and empathy.  
  
Eventually, timidly, the soul returned, caressing the spirit's consciousness. "?" it asked. "Why are you here?"  
  
The spirit took his time for this question. If he had to share this body, it would be no good to start off the relationship with the soul fearing him. Finally, he decided on a half-truth.  
  
He showed a picture of a destroyed library. It was easy to produce the accompanying emotion of despair at the sight of shredded and defiled knowledge. He showed the soul the young man that burst into the library, brandishing a crossbow with intent to kill. He was frank with the soul that this man had the right to be angry with him, though he didn't reveal why. He told the soul how overwhelmed he had been, how his body was ravaged with hunger, exposure, and exhaustion. He showed how the young man had railed at him and how the spirit's words barely calmed him. He admitted that he knew he would die that day and how he had knelt for the blade. With a prayer of mercy to God and a last Working of bodily sacrifice, he never felt the blade and his own soul escaped to find a new start.  
  
As he finished telling his tale, the spirit felt a strange emotion coming from the soul. It was laughing at him! The spirit was immediately angry. What was so amusing? The soul choked off it's humor, expressing a desire for forgiveness, a sensation like the calm-down motion of the hand. It said to him without words, "Blue lightening." The spirit didn't understand and the soul was disappointed. It gave him a dismissive emotion instead, and then pictured a blade and a comforting hug. It was sorry that he lost his head, and that wasn't what it was laughing about. After a thoughtful moment, the young man's soul told the spirit his own story in a series of images.  
  
"Father, Mother." Sorcery glyphs. They were both Workers. "Brother," the other young man with blue-black hair and bright blue eyes. The soul showed how shy the lad was and presented the feeling of great love for what must be his younger sib. "Wife," was the dark woman, her curls as full of bounce as her cheerful personality. The soul expressed a painful love for her, and how she made him know the release of laughter.  
  
The soul produced a scene of a feast table, set in spring flowers. The sense was of a recent event, sharp in memory. Even the scent of the bouquets accompanied the image. A festive mood as celebrants toasted one another and made merry. A crash in the kitchen sounding like one of the huge deep fryers, screaming cooks, and all heads turn to see a gush of boiling oil sweep under the door to the feast table.  
  
The soul paused, strong emotion replacing the wordless dialogue. Then it continued.  
  
The guests scattered in the wake of the oil, some less quick feet being scalded. In the panic, a candelabrum is overturned and lands on the edge of the ever-spreading mass. It quickly lights the oil, flame racing across the floor, catching on skirts and cloaks. Mob-mentality ensues. A crush for the exits, both doors and windows. Burning feasters running to others in a desperate attempt for assistance, lighting others in fire.  
  
All these images are from above, as the soul had been on the balcony above the hall. He tries calling on the fae, but never learning how, the fae fails to come to his call, unable to respond to his undisciplined and frantic thought patterns.  
  
"?" the soul asks. "You see now?"  
  
"?" the spirit answered, too caught up in the tale to understand what the question meant.  
  
The soul replied with blue lightening, racing across the ground, up houses and trees, lines of it everywhere. When the spirit seemed not to follow, the soul angrily made the symbol of a Seeing, and rejected it. Again, it made that symbol and then dissolved it, but the picture of blue lightening remained.  
  
"!" the spirit said, finally getting the message. He felt a sudden chill. Surely that didn't mean what he thought it did. Tentatively, he asked if the soul had seen a flicker of prismatic color in the sky before. The soul confirmed it, with a sense of longing and happiness.  
  
The spirit took a mental step backwards. It had seen a flash of tidal fae, the rarest fae seen by man, of woman's domain! The only men ever to hope to have their Sight Worked when a chance flash should occur would be those who cannot unWork their sight.  
  
"You rejected your Adept-hood?" the spirit asked in disbelief.  
  
The soul was remorseful. It offered an image of itself when it was young, playing in the woods with two boys and a girl. They came across a cave entrance and in their innocence they entered. A hidden fae creature attacked from the depths of the darkness, clawing the leading boy and turning to the smallest boy. dark haired and blue-eyed. The soul had acted on instinct to protect his brother, knowing that fae-born fear light; it blasted it with a spear of light. The children escaped, running all the way to an ancient keep of white marble. A face familiar to the spirit scolded the children and then turned on the soul. It was obvious that he blamed the boy somehow because of his family's acceptance of fae use. The soul, scarred by the event, had rejected his parents' request that he learn to master use of his innate gift.  
  
The spirit, surprised, asked about the familiar face. "You know Reginal Tarrant?"  
  
The soul mentally shrugged and showed a family tree. It's father shared a grandfather with the Tarrants. It was a Tarrant cousin.  
  
Insight came to the spirit. When the soul had laughed at him, it was because his story had fae-lines throughout everything, as adepts see the world. An adept of Tarrant blood; the spirit pondered the coincidence. Were there coincidences in God's plan? He himself had lived beyond his mortal years and was pivotal in saving the world from Hell. He raised a silent thanks to his God, certain now that this whole strange situation had purpose. 


	3. Part 3

The spirit had only one more question that he felt he had to ask. He indicated the fae thread and inquired, "?"  
  
It answered with a Knowing glyph and the rising sun. The next image was of a tsunami. As the spirit began to protest his inability to catch the meaning, the soul cut him off and then hesitated, trying to think of a more clear way to explain it. Frustrated with the lack of words, it stuttered out a picture story, trying to show what happened from outside of itself.  
  
"Mother, Father." A gravestone. "Brother." The long black hair was singed short and burns puckered up the whole of his left side from thigh to shoulder, the bright eyes bright with severe fever. "Wife." The spirit started at the sight of the woman burned beyond recognition, her mouth open in an unending scream. She struggled against the bonds that held her to a bed as she thrashed, trying to escape the agony that was her own body.  
  
The soul pictured a stylized volcano on a map of the north. Shaitan, the spirit guessed. The soul was journeying on the mare to this volcano at a frenzied pace with intention to use the powerful fae there to have the portrait family again.  
  
Here, the soul struggled again, actually confused at what happened to it. But it showed the same copse they were in and itself Working a Knowing directed to the east, the rising sun. East was where home was. The fae. as it reached out to use the fae, something odd took place. Unlike the sudden change before an earthquake, the fae-lines thinned. Instead of ceasing to Work for like an earthquake, the soul curiously directed it's Knowing to the fae itself. Then the fae surged, sweeping the soul's consciousness out of it's own body. It was like it had been caught in a tsunami.  
  
The spirit took this all in. The story must have taken place just as the fae was ripped away from mortal hands and altered towards self-sacrifice. The thinning was the end of human Workings and the surge was their spells breaking free. In a way, it was his fault that the soul had lost it's body. Resolutely, he gave the thread a gentle tug. "Come back in," he invited.  
  
The soul hesitated, turning it's attention back to the east. "Shaitan?" it asked.  
  
He answered negatively, telling the soul that someone had crossed out the old rules and wrote a new one. You have to kill yourself to get your wish. Why jump into the volcano and have a healthy but lonely widow?  
  
The soul answered with two babies in his wife's arms. They were expecting. He had no answer for that, but was concerned that his new body had suicidal tendencies.  
  
The soul looked east again. Miraculously, it Worked the fae and sent a question east. So a soul isn't exactly human? Several moments passed. Finally, he sensed that the soul had it's answer. "?" he asked.  
  
"!" it screamed, resounding in the spirit's mental ear. He found himself assaulted with heart-wrenching anguish again. Image after image came to him. Within moments, he saw the soul's entire relationship with it's wife. Childhood sweethearts. Years of footsie, first time holding hands, first kiss, the proposal, wedding night, news of the pregnancy, and the joy of learning that they were having twins.  
  
And then its brother as a baby, as an annoying toddler that followed him all the time, that played with his toys, who wanted to play big boy games while acting like a sissy. Later as teens, the closest of friends that alternately got into various forms of mischief and charmed everyone about them.  
  
The spirit caught his breath after the onslaught. He then asked testily, "And you did that why?"  
  
Another gravestone next to it's parents, and a brother that refuse to respond to anyone and rocked himself all day.  
  
"Go back! It's you and him now, go back!"  
  
The soul wailed on about its dead parents, wife, babies, and semi-comatose brother. "No, no more pain. No more! Free me! End this! Take the body! Have your new start. Let me die! I failed them, I deserve to die!" The soul struggled against the fae thread, its leash to life.  
  
"No! No! Stop!" the spirit pleaded. "Guilt will pass. Depression always ends! Come back!" he tried to command in desperation.  
  
The soul paused. "You cry for me, a stranger?" It enveloped the spirit with warmth. "Do good to the world, in my name, with my body. I am done." And the frail thread broke.  
  
The spirit gasped, mentally trying to grab at the intangible. But the soul was gone, and he suddenly felt cold and alone. He had begun to like talking to himself and getting an answer! His own humor failed to lighten his heavy heart, and he did indeed cry for the soul's lose.  
  
Why cry for someone he barely knew? God, such behavior was unlike him! True, what greater gift could someone give you than their own body, but why did it happen this way? And dear God, what point was there in giving me an occupied body only to have the soul leave shortly after? What lesson was there in feeling its pain? To make me grateful? I'm alive, so of course I'm grateful.  
  
The mare's wet muzzle smudged the hot tears coursing down his cheek. He opened his eyes and sniffled. "I'm okay girl, just shaken up a bit." The mare whickered an affirmative and moved off to graze. The spirit noted distantly that his senses were registering properly, but with the knowledge that it meant the soul truly wasn't home anymore, it didn't comfort him.  
  
He sighed as he recalled being somewhat a people person in his mortal lifetime. He would have to find a city. 


	4. Part 4

***AN- Anyone know how to make the italics and spacing remain after you upload it? *swears***  
  
Shakily, he rose to his feet, deciding to make an effort of adjusting to things as they now were. Half conscious of his actions, he unsaddled the mare and curried her, to her obvious relief. Then he stripped off his leathers, tossing them in a side pool of the brook to soak.  
  
Wading ankle deep to the edge of the water, he tried to discern his new face on its surface. The fast moving, spring-rain fed current didn't cooperate and when he had first saw this body, its hair had covered its face. Vanity had been furthest from his mind before but old mindsets died hard. He returned to the saddlebags, seeking a mirror. He found one in a shaving kit, and he was annoyed by the realization that he had three days growth. His old body barely had body hair at all, and wasn't sure if he remembered how to shave.  
  
Going back to the stream, he laid the mirror, shaving kit, and a bar of soap on the bank and hopped from rock to rock until he came to a drop-off in the water about six feet deep. His toes were getting cold, but two days of unconsciousness had left his body in need of cleaning. Steeling himself, he made a shallow dive, getting the shock of cold water over with quickly.  
  
The copse echoed with his yelp as he popped up out of the water and ran for the bank. "Oh my vulking God! Now I know you have a sense of humor for choosing this place!" After ten centuries of artificial cold, he had forgotten what "shrinkage" meant for living men! Shivering, he soaped up, cursing with phrases acquired after centuries of exposure to the worst of demons and immoral men. All the same, he made a second dive into the freezing water. This time, he got out chattering to hard to swear. The mare snickered, though her back was to him as if she hadn't noticed his antics. "T-Two words, gl-glue factory." She swished her tail and carried on grazing.  
  
Wrapping himself in a sleeping bag, he sat by a rock where he propped up the small mirror, turning his head this way and that trying to see all the details. Blue eyes, he noticed, but a shade so dark they appeared more like black. Long dark lashes, thin brows, and. His eyes went wide. "What's this?" He removed a brow ring and shook his head at such an odd thing. He swept the straight black hair over his shoulders and a few strands caught on his ear. He brushed at them and felt more metal. He looked at them in the mirror. Each ear was pierced all the way up. Bewildered, he began removing them all. At the last moment, he replaced a dangle and a stud at the bottoms and a hoop at the top. Earrings were unlike him, but he wasn't himself anymore. While he was at it, he removed several rings from his hands and a toe ring from each foot. He saw the hoop belly ring, but didn't know how to take it off. He allowed the single necklace, a love chain, to remain to honor the soul's wife, since that was how modern couples married.  
  
"Magpie!" he declared as he glanced at the small collection of jewelry. "And he seemed like such a nice boy," he grinned as he made chiding, clicking sounds. And then he realized something. He stuck his tongue out in the mirror. Sighing, he untwisted the bar.  
  
The mare approached and appraised him, probably wondering about the change in her owner's demeanor. She sniffed the jewelry and then nuzzled the back of his shoulder. "Ugh! You drooled! I don't want another bath! Shoo!" The mare casually obliged, moving on towards a patch of clover. Assessing the damage, he peered over his shoulder and saw more than grass there. "Dear God, is that a tattoo???" Grabbing the mirror, he tried to catch the darker patch in its reflection. "A fire bird."  
  
Before he could ponder that, a thud distracted him. The mare had thrown herself to the ground and was rolling like a happy filly in the sweet clover. He couldn't help but laugh at her. "I have to name you." She looked at him then rolled some more. She stopped a few seconds, long enough to take a few nips at clover heads, and continued rolling. "Clover? Nah. Paint? Too common. Hey-you. It would work. How about One-in-a-Million?" The mare snorted on cue. "Okay, it's a bit presumptuous. Ah! I have the perfect name for you! An intelligent woman with a great sense of humor, who I will never meet again and therefore won't be able to get mad at me for naming a horse after her. Would you answer to the name Ciana?"  
  
The mare stopped and stared at him. After a long moment, she snorted delicately, got to her feet, and came to him. "I'll take that as a yes. .And I'm seeking the consent of a horse. I've gone mad." She bumped her head against him, wanting attention. He grinned and stood, wrapping his arms around her neck. "Aren't you lucky that I am the original horse lover." She only sighed in contentment as he rubbed under her bridle.  
  
"It would be nice it you could tell me what my name is." She seemed to be paying attention so he tried a few names on her. "How does Mikel sound? It means, 'of God.'" She didn't look impressed. "Gabriel, the messenger? Mamoru, the protector. Jirrod, down to earth. Stefin, a crown." The unhorse listened but still didn't give a hint of preference. The young man looked off to the horizon, trying to think of more names. He happened to look to the east, the direction of the rising sun. "Fine then, how about Dawn?" The mare immediately perked up. "Dawn? Are you serious? It's a girl's name!" She twitched an ear in annoyance. He thought on it. He had acquired a new body with a firebird tattooed on it. The name actually suited the theme of fresh beginnings.  
  
"Very well, Ciana Mare-day. Dawn Firebird it is."  
  
At his proclamation, a breeze kicked up and stirred the branches of the nu- cherry boughs above them. Pink blossoms fell and swept about the pair. Cherry petals, age-old symbols of rebirth and vitality, clung in Dawn's hair and caressed his bared skin. He laughed in great pleasure at the good omen, overjoyed that God blessed him with the sign of His approval.  
  
Once, long ago, the Prophet of the One God had fell from grace. From the ashes of that name sprung the powerful Prince of Jahanna. The will of God demanded that the prince would fall as well. No grace is greater than God's grace and no power is greater than God's power. God's will be done.  
  
The Phoenix had arisen. Amen.  
  
***Postnote- For other Coldfire lovers, I am in the process of making a fansite at www.geocities.com/phoenix_of_jahanna/ It's a little thing now, but if you would like to contribute to it, I would be quite appreciative. Either email aravan_fox@yahoo.com or leave your addie in my reviews, I will happily reply ( *** 


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